He Was Compromised
by girl in the glen
Summary: Beware of spoilers in the reviews.  Are appearances always true? Trust is always at the heart of the issue between UNCLE's top men. This started as a vignette in UNCLE Fantasies.
1. Chapter 1

He Was Compromised

"You found me out, I see". Illya looked at his partner in that cool, unconfirmed manner of denial without explanation. He was unsure of the look on Napoleon's face; was it disappointment or something worse?

"Well, say something. I know you saw me there.' A pause of discomfort and a wave of anxiety passed through him as he waited for the dark eyes to blink or waiver...anything to break the silence.

"It isn't what you think". True. It only looked bad. In reality, the compromise was an illusion.  
"Are you going to speak?" Now he was getting angry. Damn the circumstances and his nosey friend's need to have explanations given.  
"I thought you trusted me." Now he wanted answers. The game worked both ways.

Napoleon sighed deeply, exhaling a breath that contained both the bounds of friendship and the frailty of it. He hadn't believed that Illya would be capable of betrayal on this level. His tovarisch, his pal...his partner.  
"I apologize for that. I shouldn't have treated you like an assignment". But he had been an assignment. The agent had been sent after him, not his friend. Waverly had issued the order. And now, here they stood with the evidence of possible duplicity a barrier between them.  
"Mr. Waverly asked me to follow you, to see who you were meeting. Illya, why were you there?" It was a question he had to ask. He wouldn't report back until he had an explanation. He owed his friend that much.

The blond head slanted back as the Russian ran his hands through the shaggy hair. He had choices to make, right now. He should just keep his mouth shut and follow orders. He didn't think he could. "Napoleon, do you trust me?' Simple question. No, not so simple. Layer upon layer. Death and life. Trust was the most difficult thing to grasp, and almost impossible to earn between the likes of them. Once broken, it was not easily repaired.

"Do you? What do you think you saw?" The blue eyes were no longer dispassionate. He was searching now, looking for a sign that his friend would yield once again to the trust and intimacy of their friendship, to the depths of what gave them the courage to go out time and again into the throes of an unyielding enemy. He had to trust him again.

"I want to trust you. But I can't deny what I saw, who I saw". No point in denying it. It was damning and Illya was in trouble, into something that Napoleon didn't understand and couldn't cover up.  
"So, you are convinced then, just like that? Do I at least get a headstart, before the dogs are unleashed?" He would be a man without a country and now, it seemed, without his friend.  
"No. Not just like that. But Illya, you're not giving me anything to counter what just went down. Is there an explanation that will contradict the appearance of evil here? The man I saw you with is Thrush, and you were engaging him as though he were a friend. We're not assigned to anything, so why would you be with him? Waverly sent me after you, so that means he didn't send you here". There was a genuine anguish now in his voice. He was pleading for an explantion that would excuse Illya from this scenario that looked like treason. He wanted to believe it was nothing, but a high ranking Thrush official having drinks with his partner looked like...it looked bad.

The Russian couldn't speak. Enough had been said, and his position required that he now retreat. It pained him to know that his friend doubted him, that what he had seen would cause him more grief than he deserved. There was nothing to be done about it now.  
"I can't explain it to you. I know Waverly sent you, but you have to believe in me. Please trust me...one more time" Now his eyes were pleading for his friend's blind faith in their friendship, their past. He had to know he had that before he could continue on with this journey. It wasn't what Napoleon thought, and he mentally cursed Waverly for setting it up like this. The old man didn't need to exclude his partner to make it convincing. They could both act sufficiently to get this drama to unfold.

"Trust me Napoleon. Things are not what they appear to be, and not everyone is forthcoming concerning this circumstance. Do you understand?" He hoped he would. Without having to literally spell it out, he needed Napoleon to grasp what he was trying to tell him.  
The CEA of UNCLE Northwest began to have a glimmer of the subtrefuge in which his partner was involved. This was going to be difficult, and the mistrust that had affected some of the people in the organization regarding Illya seemed destined to reach a new crescendo of accusation and anger.

"So, what I saw was not compromising, and you are not in league with a Thrush agent. But, I can't know this because...I'm not supposed to figure it out. And, you're being set up to...what? Defect, or look like it. Am I right?" Yes, thankfully he had it now. Illya could not have gone on with this if Napoleon thought him an actual traitor to their shared dedication to UNCLE and it's cause...to him.

"I can't deny or confirm, but if you trust me then you'll know what the answer is. You have to report to Waverly and say what needs to be said...for the record. Whatever happens, I need you to watch my back. Not everyone will have the same degree of trust in my loyalty. Watch out for those people, Napoleon. Being my friend could get dangerous". There would be some tough days ahead, and headquarters was going to become a dangerous place for the displaced Soviet agent. And there was a phrase that would be whispered among the doubters...  
"He was compromised".


	2. Chapter 2

The halls of UNCLE headquarters were chilled to a steady 70 degrees during the entire year. That temperature, according to research aimed at producing the most efficient environment for work, had reached the determination of 70 degrees as the optimum in comfort and productivity. But, when Napoleon Solo entered the reception area after his meeting with Illya, he felt a chill.

His partner hadn't shared any of the details of the meeting with the Thrush, nor had he indicated that any information would be forthcoming. The man who occupied the top position of section two was in the dark, and he didn't like the feeling. All he could gather from the oblique conversation was that a sting was in motion, and the person most likely to feel the inevitable discomfort would be the Russian. Now, walking into his office with his head reeling from the discovery of this covert operation, Napoleon realized he would not be able to help Illya until he saw the problem in motion. His partner was being set up, not only as an infiltrator into Thrush, but as a fall guy here at headquarters. That meant it was a double sided affair. Why else would he remain here if it weren't to draw someone out? Normally an infiltration meant only that; you went into the enemy camp and hoped they would embrace you as a defector who was bringing information as the door was swinging shut behind you. But that wasn't the case here. Illya was remaining in UNCLE while posing as a traitor. If Waverly suspected someone of being a mole, why hadn't he been included in this?

He felt a headache coming on. His blood pressure must have jumped up twenty points from the shock and then his concern about the situation. He realized that he could probably spot something if he were to examine files on the most likely suspects. Perhaps recent activities would point him in a direction that might be useful. Unless Illya and Waverly already knew who it was, how could it not help to have one more person working on this? He kept asking himself questions but the answers were eluding him.

Illya was literally out in the cold. If Thrush stopped long enough to start questioning his supposed defection, he would be in danger from them. If certain people in UNCLE caught him in the act of whatever he would be doing, then reprisals here could get ugly. It was already a stretch for some to accept the Russian agent. He had built a stellar reputation within the agency, but some things die hard; prejudice was a tough enemy.

His phone rang twice before he actually heard it. "Mr. Solo...' It was Lisa Rogers, the woman behind the man. Mr. Waverly's secretary knew everything, saw everything...  
"Mr. Waverly would like to see you...now". Oh, the summons he had waited for. The old man would want to know how the meeting had gone. Now how was he to handle this? Lie to Waverly. More questions, more pain in his head.  
"Thank you Lisa. I'll be right there".

Alexander Waverly sat very still at the same spot he always occupied as he waited for Mr. Solo's arrival. This time, he did not pick up the briar pipe, nor did he fidget and look for files. Somehow that activity held less appeal to him at present. He knew, of course, that Mr. Kuryakin would have tried to alert his partner to the scheme at hand. That was understood. It was also accepted for the time being. Trying to separate those two was like tearing school children apart from their games and making them come in for a nap. So much fuss over the matter. Still, he knew they were the best and that their commitment to one another was the glue that held their missions together; they had the best record in the organization and it was due, in large part, to the way they worked together. Individually they each had all that was required to be a top notch UNCLE agent. But, together they were beyond top notch. They were the standard to which all other teams aspired. Pulling the Russian out in order to use him as bait was a hard decision, especially considering the decision to exclude his CEA from the plan. On the other hand, Kuryakin was the right choice; he was the one most people would accept as a traitor due to their ignorant fear of him simply because of his place of birth. It would be easy to fabricate the disgruntled accounts of a lone wolf who had tired of suspicions and arrogant prejudice. Yes, Illya Kuryakin would make a very viable traitor.

"Mr. Solo, do come in". The entrance of Napoleon Solo split the swooshing noise of the pnuematic doors as they closed behind him. He showed no indication of the turmoil he had left in his office; the headache was under control now and his demeanor reflected the cool personna of Waverly's top agent. He had determined to remain quiet on the issue of his exclusion from the plan in question. He would wait for his superior to broach the subject and, include him or not, he would try and follow orders. His concern for the safety of his partner was running on par with his reaction to the threat of an enemy agent inside of UNCLE. Working together was the solution, and he was yielded to doing whatever necessary to bring in the offending agent. But, he would also do whatever was necessary to protect Illya.


	3. Chapter 3

"Mr. Solo, I take you have witnessed the exchange between Mr. Kuryakin and Deacon Duvall". To the point. Napoleon couldn't ask for much more. The office of Alexander Waverly had been scanned and searched prior to this conversation. No risk would be allowed to hinder the success of Kuryakin's assignment. It was imperative that no one discern the ruse, whether friend or foe. Too much was at stake, including the life of the Russian agent. Waverly had no desire to see sacrifice in pursuit of their targets, regardless of the accepted status of all agents as expendable.  
"Yes sir, I was able to see them conversing. I assume that this is a covert operation". Why waste time pretending he didn't understand what was going on. He wouldn't believe it was anything else, regardless of how it was set up.

The window beyond hinted at clouds forming for an afternoon shower. The skyline was grey against an even greyer background. He felt grey right now; grey was formless and without direction. Grey didn't know whether it wanted to be white or black, and somehow grey just wasn't adequate at the moment.

"I take it you have had sufficient time for weighing this situation and it's ramifications. Mr. Kuryakin must be allowed to carry this through to it's completion. You will not interfere, regardless of how it looks or whether or not he appears to be...in peril. Do you understand Mr. Solo?" How many times had he been required to respond to that question?  
"Yes, Mr. Waverly I do understand. I also suspect that we are looking for a Thrush agent within UNCLE. Is it possible that I can be utilized in the search for this individual?" There. He might as well put his cards on the table next to the old man's. They usually understood each other very well; this shouldn't be an exception. The stakes were too high.

The elder gentleman paused before continuing. Now he did reach for the briar, affecting a search for tobacco, he fiddled for a moment or two as the habitual roaming of his hands began. Napoleon observed this, as he had thousands of times before; the wait wouldn't be long and he had time to place his own thoughts in order as the pipe was lit and delicate plumes of smoke began to twist their way above the head of the UNCLE chief.  
"Yes, indeed there is someone here who is not one of our own. Mr. Kuryakin's goal is to infiltrate Thrush by means of Mr. Duvall in order to gain information related to our problem here. We believe that he is the contact for our target, and with Mr. Kuryakin's apparent defection, he will be made privy to the information we need for exposing this individual. It is unusual to be required to go to these lengths, but whoever we're looking for is deep; he or she has been successful at remaining so deep within the organization that all other efforts have failed. Up to this point it didn't seem necessary to bring in Section Two in order to facilitate the search; we have reached a dead end, Mr. Solo. and the obvious choice for this job of being the traitor, as it were, fell to Mr. Kuryakin for...I should think even to you...obvious reasons".

Obvious reasons. Why was it so obvious? Because he's Russian he is the obvious choice to betray his commitment to UNCLE. Because he's...yes...because he is. It wasn't Solo's rationale, but it would be that of many others, even in UNCLE. Too many times had he been called the red menace, or Solo's commie friend. Illya had taken it with an incredible amount of grace and tolerance. He dreaded to think what it would cost his friend, emotionally, to be caught in this horrendous escapade of deceit; how many people would finally show their true colors as they pointed to what they assumed were his?

"Mr. Waverly, am I going to be able to at least stand up for my partner, or do I have to fall in line with the accusations? At what point do I yield to what is portrayed as the truth?" He knew this question would have an unpleasant response. He asked it anyway, if for no other reason than to make it clear he would go as far as he could before surrendering his friend to the eventual and unavoidable fall out from this plan.

"I believe that you should play the part as you would if it were true, Mr. Solo. Mr. Kuryakin is launching into this charade in spite of certain eventualities; he will be falsely accused, and yet that is exactly what we are aiming for. His descent into the Thrush organization must be on the heels of being ostracized here. No one leaves from a position such as he holds here without leaving a trail of destruction behind. There is no easy way out".

Napoleon heaved a sigh without intending to. He nodded his agreement and looked up to see his superior's face falling into a compassionate and understanding expression. They understood each other.


	4. Chapter 4

Illya Kuryakin knew that the journey ahead of him would entail a certain amount of emotional upheaval as well as the normal physical danger. What he dreaded most was the possibility that the majority of it would come from his fellow agents and co-workers at UNCLE. After all of this time, it stung a little to think that he was an obvious choice for this mission simply because he was Soviet. He knew it was true and hadn't even concidered balking at the suggestion when it was brought to him by his superior. Mr. Waverly did understand his people, even the aspect of their psyche that allowed them to remain chained to irrelevant sterotypes. Certainly this man, this Russian, had done enough to earn the respect and trust of the entire organization. Certainly it should be true; it was not.

The first order of defection for him had come on the heels of the not too subtle messages that had gone out via the UNCLE grapevine. He had complained more lately, had been obviously upset with missions and orders. Napoleon had overlooked his grumbling for the most part, being concerned but not willing to force a discussion about it. Much of his grousing had been done in public areas where he might be overheard and targeted by the Thrush mole. It was obvious that the Russian would be a prime choice if one were given. Second only to Napoleon Solo in all of section two, bringing him in as a willing operative for Thrush would mean great rewards.  
He had also sent out cryptic messages via known Thrush minions; he told one of them he could fly higher than any of their other operatives and then suggested he deliver that message to a superior. He chased down one of those low level couriers and bragged that he would be his boss some day. All of this without telling Napoleon. That was the hardest part.

Illya was introduced to Deacon Duvall with a document in hand that would cause the Thrush official to consider the possibility that this half of UNCLE's famed duo might be seduced into their organization. The information in the secreted documents was real; it had to be in order to convince the in house Thrush of Illya's complicity. That would be the entree' into the criminal lair as well as the damning evidence to the employees of UNCLE. Word would eventually get out, as rumor and speculation initially. Then, when publicly displayed, his betrayal and defection would make him a target for not only verbal abuse and profound disappointment, but possibly physical harm as well. For now, as he made his way towards headquarters and the hallways of what had become his home and support, Illya began to experience a dread at what lay ahead. He shuddered at the realization of how this would affect other people; some who had been kind to him or cared for him. Even when...if...the truth were revealed, how many would still doubt him. He hadn't realized how hard he had worked to be a part of this group. At the time it didn't seem like he was making a real effort, especially after he partnered with Napoleon. It had all been so easy and natural to just slide in on the goodwill offered to the charming CEA. Now, in retrospect, Illya had done his part to learn how to be at ease among the predominately American population of headquarters. His occasional slips in idiomatic slang had amused some, even endeared him to a few. Now he wondered if that could be recovered.

All of this had occupied his mind as he rode by taxi from his meeting with Duvall back to headquarters. As he slipped the cabbie his fare and then descended the steps into Del Floria's, there was an ominous feeling deep in his gut beyond the melancholy of his depressing cab ride. Someone else knew; he didn't know why he was thinking it, but an instinct that he trusted time and again was yelling inside his head that someone else had seen him with Duvall. And because of that, the timetable was moved up from the planned expulsion from UNCLE. He might not be able to finish the course of action as it had been formulated. As he walked through the dressing room door and into the brightly lit corridors of UNCLE headquarters, Illya Kuryakin felt for all the world as though his time was up.


	5. Chapter 5

The receptionist who greeted Illya handed over his section two badge without pausing to really examine the brooding agent. The eerie feeling that had overcome him earlier was not diminishing as he had hoped. He tried to relive the moments that surrounded his meeting with Duvall. Whatever it was coiled in his memory wasn't ready to fully reveal itself; somehow he had seen an individual from headquarters in the low lights of the restaurant. Perhaps the person in question wouldn't have recognized the Thrush official. If that were the case, then the incident might pass without repurcussions...for now. Napoleon might be able to conjur up an image. What if he had been seen as well. That would be a virtual nail in his coffin to have been the subject of observation by the CEA of UNCLE Northwest. He might as well just turn in his badge and leave now. How had this become so complicated in so short a time?

As he turned to head for his office, he noticed a woman from the lab with whom he had worked recently. She was a serious employee, not given to idle conversation. They had gotten along quite well, both of them intent on their own projects and not in need of frivolous asides to their primary purposes. Now, as they approached one another, he noticed a slight hesitation in her eyes as she glanced towards him. Did he imagine that, or was word already going around about him?

"Hello Marianne', he greeted her and waited for a reply or reaction.  
"How are you doing down in eight?" He slowed in order to facilitate conversation. He was testing her...he needed to know.  
"Mr. Kuryakin, hello. I had hoped to run into you; I think I might need your opinion on something that I've encountered". She wasn't affected; he was glad for that. He wasn't ready yet for the onslaught.  
"I'll be down there as time allows. I have some reports to finish up here, but I'll look for you". She returned a smile and passed on to her destination. That had taken all of about 30 seconds, but it was a relief to the blond, knowing he still had time. Paranoia. It wouldn't just be other people affected by it, he now reasoned.

As he turned into his own office, there was a note waiting on his desk. If this was from their imposter, it was very brazen to just leave it on his desk in plain view. Perhaps Thrush was that confident of him, or intent on getting him to come over to their side. The quickest way to gain Kuryakin would be to make it impossible to stay at UNCLE. As he slid open the envelope it was clear that this was indeed a message from the mole inside of headquarters. The writer was suggesting a meeting between the two of them. He was considered a done deal, it seemed. 'Meet me at midnight at the Purple Unicorn. That establishment certainly got a lot of action; okay, they would meet. This seemed too soon...too easy. He didn't really have a choice though. He would let Waverly know about the meeting, and he would go.


	6. Chapter 6

Illya had made his report to Mr. Waverly regarding the afternoon's activities; the meeting with Duvall and the note he had found on his desk asking for a "meet" at the Purple Unicorn. He also told him of his impression that another member from UNCLE had been at the restaurant, and had possibly seen him with the Thrush man. Under normal circumstances, he might not have been as willing to divulge something that wasn't a hard fact; now wasn't the time for holding anything in abeyance. His life and career were on the line and he didn't want to be the one responsible for a mistake.

"Mr. Kuryakin, do you honestly believe that this note is from our mole? Is it possible that someone else is playing in our little game?" The section one chief had the same reaction as had his agent about the sudden appearance of the mystery invitation. It seemed that there would have been more time devoted to observing the UNCLE agent. Illya would rather have had the luxury of playing this out with more finesse, but if they wanted him now and they had an opportunity to end it, perhaps it was all for the best this way. "I do not see that I have any options here, except to go and see who shows up. Perhaps they are so anxious to recruit me that there is a willingness to speed up the process". It seemed likely that it might be the case; he hoped so. It might alleviate the difficulties posed by whoever had been at the restaurant.

"Alright then...be careful. I don't suppose I need to tell you that". The wise man of UNCLE did not want to see any harm come to this young man. Too many sacrifices had been made for their cause; he hoped they weren't walking into a situation that would mean another loss. The young Russian had done more than his share since he was a very young man and it shouldn't end badly now...not for the sake of a traitor in their midst.

"I will take every precaution sir. I have no desire to end my career like this. I will report in as I am able..." For a brief moment there was a hint of something indefinable in the blond's eyes. The older man thought he saw it, but it vanished as soon as he was aware of it, making him wonder if it hadn't been his own vision casting a rare glint of emotion onto his agent. They both nodded as Illya rose from his chair and then exited the room, a slight slouch in his shoulders that he repaired as he walked through the big silver doors.

On the other side of the doors he began to mumble to no one in particular, strains of a madman or a rebel resounding through the spartan hallways. This then would be his greatest performance for UNCLE. The last thing anyone would hear from Illya Kuryakin as he tore through the metallic hallways would be the angry rant of a spurned man, giving everyone who heard him the impression of someone who resembled the profile of the disenfranchised; the sound of a traitor.

At midnight precisely, Illya walked into the Purple Unicorn dressed in his somber black attire; a turtleneck and corduroy trousers blended into the dark interior so that only his light hair and pale complexion betrayed his presence in the discotheque. The club was indeed purple, and it boasted glittering crystal balls overhead, miniature versions of the giant one in Time Square that fell every New Year's eve. A noisy crowd of people filled the tables that ringed the dance floor, and a balcony overhead was reserved for those who preferred the privacy required for more intimate activities. The slender build of the agent meshed well with the svelte clientelle that surrounded him; dressed in haute couture and runway chic, they eyed the man who had penetrated their territory without yielding to their aesthetics. He was beautiful enough, and somehow the lack of obvious fashion sense underlined a more enticing style that now became very attractive to more than one of the women in attendance.

He stepped up to the bar and ordered vodka, hoping it would be decent enough to drink. His eyes began scanning beneath a demure countenance, never indicating the precision with which he surveyed the crowd. There were no familiar faces here, and the possibility that he had been lured here for a test of some sort occured to him now. Perhaps he should have told Napoleon of the plan so that he would have had some type of back up. Coming alone began to seem an irresponsible act and he wondered if Waverly might have alerted his partner to this latest development. He began to scan the room and the balcony, hopeful that the familiar brown eyes would be looking back at him. Napoleon wasn't part of this though. He wouldn't be here...

"Are you waiting for me?" The voice was sultry and feminine, and he turned to look into the eyes of Marianne, the woman from section eight whom he had seen that afternoon in the hallways of UNCLE. She looked like a different woman; gone was the frumpy brown hair and the nondescript clothing. He would never have guessed what was beneath the labcoat she wore, nor the effect of letting down her hair...literally.  
"I might be' he replied. The blue eyes glinted beneath the lights of the crystal and the neon behind the bar.  
"Perhaps you can tell me whether or not we have an appointment".

"Appointment? No, I don't think I'd call it that. Karma maybe". She grinned and held out her hand for him to follow her to the dance floor. What was going on here? He didn't have time to dance with her if she wasn't the person for whom they were looking...  
"Illya...may I call you Illya?" He nodded, still unable to decide what to do with her.  
"Well, Illya, I've been hoping to spend some time with you outside of the lab. This is just crazy though, isn't it...running into each other like this". She wasn't the mole. She just wanted to...she really was very pretty.

He very impulsively drew her close to him and danced in earnest with the lovely lab girl.


	7. Chapter 7

While Illya and Marianne danced, one set of eyes was tracking them as they moved to the music, entwined in each other's arms as though the evening was significant for nothing more than a night on the town. The blond agent used the movement to survey the room, keeping his eyes roving around the tables and the bar; he let his gaze rest on the girl sporadically, never intending to seduce her into a false sense of romance. She didn't seem to notice or mind, because her eyes were also searching for something or someone. When she spotted him, he nodded almost imperceptibly in her direction, confirming the next step.

Illya was beginning to think that the evening was a bust, and that he should just leave. Marianne wasn't his date, and he felt no obligation to finish the night with her, regardless of whatever she hoped for. The song faded out gradually, and he guided her off of the dance floor. Whoever had written the note requesting the meeting here was late, making him feel uncomfortable and edgy. He didn't like having to wait; it was a bad start to an entirely different kind of dance.

"Illya, luv...I think we should get a breath of fresh air. You look on edge, or...are you waiting for someone else?" The question shocked him, and then he looked more closely at her and the expression on her face was not an accusation. _What was her part in this?_

"What do you know?" The grip on her arm tightened as the thought cemented into a certainty. He found it hard to believe he could have missed the clues, for surely there had been some. He had worked with this woman.

"Oh, I know just enough. But, we're friends now, right...birds of a feather and all that". The smile was not the smile of a friend. More of a conquerer over the body of a vanquished foe. Was he vanquished? Was this all for nothing?  
"Are we?' He needed to buy some time, and he didn't believe that she was the deep cover agent that Thrush had planted. Something wasn't quite right.

"I believe I must have missed something. Perhaps you'd like to explain things to me". Keep her talking, find out as much as possible before whoever else was involved got here and broke this up.

"Just what kind of friends are we, Marianne?" When he had finished saying her name, she reached up and kissed him. That was real; she'd always wanted to kiss Illya and feel those lips...taste his mouth...before it was too late.

He pulled away, stunned by the action, angry at her impudence. Her grey eyes held his own as he struggled with the ease with which he had been drawn into this; he had yielded too easily and now he sensed real danger encompassing him.

"We're going to be good friends, I think. Now, why don't we go outside and see just how friendly we are..._Illya_". From somewhere she had produced a gun and held it to his side in an uncompromising gesture of hostility. She guided him out the front door and onto the sidewalk, dodging the other club patrons while she kept the muzzle lodged in Illya's ribs.

The man who had been watching them was already across the street and ready to act. For two years he had waited for a chance to take the Russian down, and this was his night to fulfill a long delayed dream. He had heard all of the complaints and rantings of the chief's pet communist, and something had clicked in his mind; the fair haired experiment was failing, and the subversive nature of the man was finally going to prove what he had known all along, that you couldn't trust Kuryakin. He had spent his time in section three as patiently as possible while the stories of the Russian's exploits and heroics rang through the halls of UNCLE. He had never believed any of it. It had to be a smokescreen for his real intentions, a way to ingratiate himself with the powerful Mr. Waverly until the time came for his ultimate betrayal. Then, finally, the truth had begun to reveal the traitor.

Following him to that restaurant had yielded the long sought after confirmation that he was a turncoat. He was handing over documents to a top Thrush official, and that made the son of a bitch fair game. It would be easy to take him out, lure him into a situation where he thought he was safe among his feathered friends. Now was his time and he meant to make it a grand finale. Soon he would take Kuryakin's place in section two. _That was the goal_.

He didn't realize that someone was watching him from the shadows. Napoleon had followed Illya here, remaining hidden and avoiding the club's interior. He had to hope that if or when any action took place, it would be out here in the open. He couldn't risk being seen, because that would hinder Illya's cover; but he couldn't not show up in case he was needed. Watching Larry Neville come and take his place behind the big Lincoln, Solo had become suspicious of his actions, wondering if he could be the mole. Not likely. He did remember what Illya had said though, about it being dangerous to remain his friend. Well, it was more dangerous to be Illya right now, and this man didn't appear to have anything but trouble on his mind.

When Illya and Marianne came out onto the sidewalk from inside the Purple Unicorn, both of the waiting men were on high alert. The girl had a gun and was directing her companion across the street to the parked Lincoln as Neville slowly emerged from behind it. He was drawing his own gun from inside a coat pocket, pointing it at the blond even as Napoleon shouted a warning at his partner.

Just as the players heard the shout and tried to adjust their attentions to the intruding voice, a black sedan sped up the street towards the couple . Neville fired a shot at his target at the same time Napoleon fired at him, hitting him squarely in the shoulder with a sleep dart. He went down, but was able to get off one more seemingly haphazard shot. It found it's mark though, and Kuryakin crumbled to the ground with a bullet in his chest. A stunned Napoleon Solo started towards his partner, fearful that the shot had been fatal. Marianne fled back into the club, hoping she hadn't been identified by the third man. Before the UNCLE agent could get to his wounded friend the back door of the sedan opened up, and as the car came to a stop the unconscious Kuryakin was gathered up by two men and shoved into the back seat.

It all happened so quickly that Napoleon didn't have a chance to intervene. The car sped off just as it had arrived, only now it had a new passenger. Napoleon watched helplessly as an injured Illya was taken away, into the night, by Thrush.


	8. Chapter 8

"Open channel D...priority" Napoleon had his communicator out and working as he watched the car speed away with his partner...his wounded partner. Thrush had been watching as well, and waiting for Illya to come outside. How were the two scenarios connected though? He would need to question Neville first in order to find that out. And who was the woman? She looked familiar, but not enough that he could give her a name.

"Waverly here. What do you have to report, Mr. Solo?" The wisened old agent had indeed sent his top man to stay abreast of the situation. "Illya has been taken by Thrush. He's wounded sir, it looked serious..." Napoleon shuddered to think of the sight of his partner when the bullet had hit him. The fair skinned agent had mirrored his own shock at the impact; his face instantly becoming more pale than normal. He had stumbled forward, his hand automatically coming up to the wound before he collapsed into the street. So suddenly had the car appeared and doors swung open to reveal the men who retrieved the lifeless body, that Napoleon hadn't had a chance to get to him first.

"What else, Mr. Solo?" The question was flat, his superior's voice mingled with professional calm and a reluctant dread.

"Larry Neville, of section three, he was the shooter', it was unbelievable that one of their own had gunned down his partner.  
"I don't think he's the mole, however. I shot him with a sleep dart, so I'll need someone to come around and pick him up. There was also a woman who looked familiar, but I don't have a name. She went back into the club, which is where I think I should go and"... Waverly cut him off.

"No, Mr. Solo. You will return to headquarters. We will question Mr. Neville and see if he isn't willing to divulge the name of his accomplice".  
"Yes sir. Shall I wait for the clean up crew here, or bring in Mr. Neville myself?" "Bring him in, Mr. Solo. We need to make use of our time...and hope that Mr. Kuryakin is not mortally wounded".

Illya woke up in a medical unit, but not at UNCLE headquarters. He was on a respirator, and his chest hurt as though it had been broken in half. He wondered that he wasn't dead, because he was certain the bullet had hit him in the chest. How long had he been here...at Thrush. He must be in a Thrush hospital; he was vaguely aware of someone in a car picking him up from out of the street. And Napoleon had been there, warning him about someone...

"Mr. Kuryakin, it's good to see you awake". The voice came from across the room, from that man he had met at the restaurant. It was Duvall speaking to him. _He was in Thrush_.  
"Don't try to reply. You took quite a hit, we were very concerned. And to think it came from an UNCLE agent. You really weren't safe there with those people'...he paused and smiled.

"I believe perhaps the situation has reversed itself. You are now being hunted by UNCLE, while it is left to us in Thrush to come to your rescue. Ironic, is it not." Illya couldn't speak, he could barely breath with the pain in his chest.

"You were hit in the chest, Illya. The bullet hit your sternum, causing a bruise on your heart. You did avoid a myocardial contusion, but not by much. Of course your sternum is now broken, and that is causing the pain. You must be a very lucky man...like a cat perhaps. How many lives do you think are left?" He was looking at the injured man with a confident expression. The prize was here in their possession now. Once the Russian was sufficiently recovered, the plan would be realized, carrying Duvall to the top of the Thrush hierarchy. This man would guarantee it for him.

Illya couldn't hold his eyes open, so he let himself drift back into a pain and drug induced slumber. _He wondered as he yielded to the mist if Napoleon was still out there..._

Some people have eyes for every occasion. Napoleon Solo was one of those individuals. He could pose as lover or friend, enemy or comrade. His eyes were part of his arsenal, and when he faced Larry Neville, the man physically shrank back when he looked into the CEA's eyes; they were feral and without mercy. He intended to know the truth from Neville and the identity of the woman who had forced Illya out into the street with a gun in his side.

"Do you work for Thrush? Because I can't think of another reason to try and kill an UNCLE agent unless you are the enemy". The challenge was for a truthful reply. If he weren't a Thrush agent, then he would have to explain how he had rationalized trying to kill Illya.  
"I am a loyal UNCLE employee, and you know it, Solo. Kuryakin is the traitor. I saw him hand over those papers at the restaurant...to a Thrush agent". The smirk carried the false bravado of someone who imagined a vague superiority over the others who confronted him. The CEA countered...

"You think you saw something, do you? And based on your own private surveillence of a trusted section two agent, you decided to murder him tonight. Is that what you had in mind, Neville?' The arrogance gave way to something like fear, but it wasn't yet fully defined.  
"Because that's what you did tonight. _You murdered Illya Kuryakin_, number two of section two. I ask you again, are you Thrush?" For the first time, Larry Neville considered the possibility that he hadn't really known anything about what he saw. But he wasn't going to let them mark him as a traitor; it hadn't been his idea really...

"If I tell you everything, what can you do for me? I didn't plan this, I just went along because I...I just never trusted the Russian. I never thought it was right, him being here with us". Napoleon had to hold himself back from punching the guy. The little moron was section three, for god's sake. How had he even gotten into the organization?  
"With us? You mean Americans, don't you. Maybe you should have gone to work for the CIA, Neville. Something tells me _you don't belong here with us in UNCLE_. Kuryakin did. Who is the woman?"

Neville weighed a few options and found he had none. He'd never killed anyone before, why did he think he could shoot Waverly's number two guy and get away with it. It had seemed like such an easy task when Marianne started talking to him about it. She was the one...  
"Look, Marianne Lukas is the one who brought me in. She said she'd heard that Kuryakin was going over to Thrush, had seen something when she worked with him in the lab. She told me to follow him to the restaurant and see what happend. It just sounded like a good idea to...to catch a traitor. Plus, him being a commie and all...' The look on Solo's face made him stop there.

"Anyway, it was her plan".


	9. Chapter 9

Napoleon was looking over the files of both individuals involved in tonight's episode. The woman was the mole...or was she? There were too many questions in all of this, and none of it made sense. The lab technician named Marianne Lucas had given no indication of being discontent or a vocal critic of his partner. She didn't have a spotty background; there weren't any blank years or unaccounted for absences that might have allowed her to slip into the enemy's camp and defect. She just didn't appear to be a Thrush, nor did she appear to be anti-Illya. And yet the evidence that she was involved in the attempt on his life was undeniable.

There had been no sign of the woman since he saw her go back into the Purple Unicorn. In questioning some of the patrons from the club all of the accounts from witnesses had suggested that she and Illya were getting on quite well; certainly nothing indicated that she had threatened him or that he felt ill at ease with her. In fact, most people thought quite the contrary as they had seen them kissing. That left Napoleon slightly puzzled.

"Mr. Solo, do you have anything in mind for our next step? We certainly do need to apprehend this Lucas woman as quickly as possible". Sometimes his boss had a propensity for stating the obvious. "Yes sir, I have several agents on this, checking her apartment and her family's home in Connecticut. We seem to have lost her completely, though. Mr. Neville knows nothing about her life outside of UNCLE.

_Marianne Lucas was, at that moment, comfortably ensconced in a Thrush safe house on Long Island. She had been safely escorted there after leaving the club; a car was waiting for her as she exited through the back. No one would ever see her again this side of the Atlantic, her new life would be waiting for her in London by the time she arrived there the following day. Her stint at UNCLE had accomplished the goal for which she had been sent. Plastic surgery and the hard work of learning her role had made it possible to replace the real Marianne who had, unfortunately and tragically, been the victim of an accident. She had been specially chosen for her proximity to Kuryakin in the lab. It wasn't too obvious, but she was the perfect invisible employee. The fact that Thrush had been able to pull off this type of deception not once, but twice, was an indication of the means and talent in their organization. This time they would prevail, unlike the failed effort with Solo's double._

When Illya awoke the second time the respirator had been removed and his breathing was stable, if not still painful. A broken sternum was certainly preferable to being dead, but it felt worse. He tried to survey the room, but his movement was hindered by the bandages and the pain. The action at the Purple Unicorn seemed so long ago, but he knew it hadn't been more than 24 hours based on his beard. He had just enough stubble to set the time, which meant the mole might still be at headquarters. He needed to start the process of uncovering that person.

When he tried to sit up, he saw stars and just barely managed to suppress a cry from the piercing pain. This wouldn't do; being inside of Thrush was bad enough when being held in a cell, but as a guest in a hospital bed his agitation was more bruising than the physical injuries. It was only a matter of time before they started using truth syrums and whatever else they had for making sure he was on the level. He didn't kid himself that they were taking him at his word on the subject of defection from UNCLE. That would be too easy, and Thrush was not that obliging.

Deacon Duvall was watching from a viewing panel in the wall across from the patient's bed. A framed picture wasn't a likely conduit for spying, and yet the labs had developed a delightful aparatus that allowed someone to look into a room without the vision being obstructed by the picture. Thrush ingenuity never ceased to amaze the man whose future now hinged on his success with the UNCLE agent in the next room.

The plan had been his own, and it's brilliance had not gone without notice. The so-called mole had been nothing more than a ruse. Marianne was there simply to play a part after Kuryakin was hooked. She hadn't passed anything except time in UNCLE headquarters.

A message had been created that was made to look like a communication between Thrush and someone inside of the pompous do good group. When they started looking and couldn't locate the mole, they assumed it was someone in very deep cover, causing no end of frustration. Another message was captured and it pointed the way for them to give up Kuryakin as a decoy so that UNCLE could weasle the name of the dread enemy within their hallowed halls. Just the suggestion that he was on their most wanted list was all it took for them to hand him over. Not that they anticipated losing him for good; their disappointment over that was going to be a bonus.

It had been so easy. Waverly was so keen to keep his little group pristine and free of infestation, and was only too eager to send in his prized Russian pet if that's what it would take to solve the mystery. Duvall hated UNCLE, hated Waverly. But he was fascinated with Illya Kuryakin and had known instinctively that if he could gain him for his own purposes, then Thrush would promote him to the highest pinnacle of power. Not only could the wiley agent provide information about his own organization, he also had knowledge of the Soviets that would be most valuable to the plans being made by Thrush. His presence was a double prize, and now he belonged to Duvall.

There was one little extra in all of this: Marianne had left something for the folks at UNCLE. In 24 hours their empire was going to be reduced by one location. New York.


	10. Chapter 10

There was something about this situation that was beginning to feel…wrong. Not that it could ever feel right to be inside of Thrush; this was something else that was niggling at the back of Illya's neural sensitivities. He didn't trust Duvall, and that was beyond the obvious. He was being treated more like a captive than a new comrade, regardless of how many precautions they might take in a situation like this.

The wound was beginning to feel better. It was amazing to him that his breastbone had stopped a bullet from going through him. He wondered what the respirator had been for, perhaps just for effect. He knew that the pain killers were wearing off, so someone would be scheduled to come in soon. He had better figure out a way to get something going, because suddenly he didn't feel like defecting.

At UNCLE headquarters, Mr. Waverly and Napoleon, along with a select few additional agents and staff, were scanning every available bit of information concerning Marianne Lucas. The woman had been in a car accident in Maine, but had not required time off. She had been taken to a hospital for minor cuts and bruises and then released. _She was at work the next day_. Something about the report sent signals off in Solo's brain; something about the hospital…

"Let's check on that hospital in Maine where they took Lucas…what's the name of it?" He was sure something was triggering an alarm.

"Volière Hospital is the name, Mr. Solo. Say, that's French for aviary". All conversation stopped in the room. Thrush was nothing if not completely audacious in their use of descriptive names and titles.

"Something happened at that hospital. Marianne Lucas is our mole, or something like it.' Suddenly there was an increased sense of urgency to this situation, and that included extracting Illya from the Thrush satrap where he was being held. Marianne Lucas had been involved with the entire episode of getting his partner to play this game. It was a trap, one into which they had thrown him unquestioningly.

"Mr. Waverly, do we have any intelligence on where this Deacon Duvall is headquartered? Thrush has moved throughout the city several times, but there must be something to indicate where this man runs his operation. Illya was injured, so they would have taken him to a medical facility…' He was answering his own questions.

"Riley, get a team up to Maine, to the Volière Hospital. We need to start where we know they've operated before". With that order, the search was begun for the missing Russian. Against all odds, they had a beginning to unraveling this mystery and retrieving his wounded partner.

Illya needed to get out of this bed; there was one major hindrance attached to his body: a catheter. He'd had to deal with these more times than he cared to remember, and he knew the doctor wasn't likely to approve removing it now. He would have to do it himself. There was a slight risk of doing some tissue damage, he knew that much. Still, he didn't have a choice, so on the count of three…one…two…threeeee…Out it came with just a little leakage and he was free of the damned thing. With that accomplished, he was ready for the next move.

When the doctor came to check on the UNCLE agent, he anticipated nothing more than to order another round of pain killers and sedatives.

Mr. Duvall wanted to keep the man under for as long as possible, until the operation on the UNCLE headquarters had been completed. It was in that frame of mind that he entered Illya's room. What he hadn't expected was for the man to be fully awake and asking questions.

"Doctor, the catheter is uncomfortable…do you think I could have a little privacy while someone looks at it, or adjusts it?" He knew they were watching him, and thought he could appeal to the physician's sympathies…man to man.

"Privacy…what do you mean by that?" He hedged a little, but it made him nervous to be around someone who obviously knew how things worked.

"Please, I know they're watching me. But, for this…just a little less surveillance". This one looked so young and harmless. He was small and didn't look dangerous…

"Yes, alright. Let me turn it off and then we will check you out". His accent was German, and Illya appreciated that at least he did have some compassion for his patients. Too bad about what was going to happen to him.

The doctor walked over to the two way picture viewer and pushed a hidden button on the bottom of the frame. As he approached the bed again, Illya was ready and with a speed that belied the fracture in his sternum, he was out of the bed and had incapacitated the unsuspecting physician. The blond was gasping slightly, the pain in his chest more pronounced than when lying prone in the bed. No time for that, however. He relieved the man of his white coat and his pants and shoes. He didn't have time for more; someone would notice the screen had been turned off. He had to get out of here quickly, and getting the unconscious man into bed took more effort than he cared to admit. For good measure he took the stethoscope as well, pushed the button to reactivate the viewing screen and slipped out the door into the hallway. There was one nurse, and she was busy over a chart paying no attention to him as he walked past the desk and through the hissing doors.


	11. Chapter 11

Napoleon was onboard the helicopter heading for Maine. Communications had tracked a flight path from a parking structure not far from the Purple Unicorn to the Volière hospital just minutes after the shooting. It was now assumed, with good reason, that Illya was there either for treatment or…he didn't want to think of the alternative. He needed his partner to be alive.

There were two UNCLE 'copters in the air, the second one a carrier model holding twenty UNCLE agents. The force would be sufficient to storm the Thrush stronghold and take command, especially since it was staffed by primarily medical personnel. That was the assumption, at least. Napoleon was hopeful that Duvall would be there, and possibly Marianne Lucas. He wanted both of them for the long hours of interrogation that he had in mind. If Illya hadn't survived, there would be no mercy from the CEA.

A slender blond in a white lab coat was seen walking down the Volière corridors, stethoscope hanging from his neck as though he intended to stop in and check on a patient. He was young looking, but that didn't raise any alarms. He appeared to not be wearing socks if anyone looked closely enough, which they failed to do. As he headed for the front doors, there were not any attempts to slow him down or stop him. He looked cautiously from left to right and then pushed open the glass doors to the hospital entrance and exited, walking at first and then breaking into a slow jog as he headed for the woods beyond.

Illya's chest was crushing him as the fractured breastbone grated, one piece against another. The pain was not enough to cause him to black out, but it reminded him that he wouldn't get far before that eventuality. Even without much blood loss, the effect was that of a steering wheel crushing his chest in a car accident; painful and debilitating.

He made it into a clump of trees and bushes near the edge of the parking lot. He could see a helicopter on the roof; it must be a helipad. One guard was stationed nearby, but otherwise he saw nothing to indicate that he might have been observed leaving. There must be another section of the building that was dedicated to Thrush personnel and surveillance, possibly a command center of some type. He also surmised that Duvall was still inside and wondered if he should try to get to him and take the man back to UNCLE headquarters. Then again, he wasn't in much shape for that, nor did he have any back up…not that he had been stopped by those negatives before. His head was pounding and he needed to sit and rest for a bit, to think of a plan. Regardless of whether or not he went back in, he didn't even know where he was. Not a good start to storming the place.

The UNCLE helicopters were nearing their destination. Napoleon looked below and could see the lights of the hospital as it sat in a clearing between two heavily forested tracks. There was one helicopter atop what must be a helipad; the one Illya had come in on no doubt. He motioned for the pilot to go to that location and get low enough for him to jump out. There was enough room to allow for their craft without hitting the blades of the idle chopper that was stationed there. The carrier craft was to land in front of the hospital entrance and storm the building. He would go in from the top, thinking that would lead to whatever personnel was present besides the medical staff. The dark haired agent had no idea that his partner was watching from the woods below, marveling once again at yet another rescue operation that was only marginally behind his own schedule.

As Illya observed the approach of the UNCLE helicopters, he sucked in his breath in anticipation of what must come next. Now he _had_ to go back in, because they would be looking for him. Also, he had to go back for Duvall. The man had suckered him and Mr. Waverly into believing that a mole was in headquarters; his veiled attempt at portraying a defector had merely been part of the man's master plan. He didn't know if Marianne was inside or not; he hadn't seen her, but he needed to go back and look for both of them.

When he saw the first chopper lower to the rooftop, he knew it was Napoleon who jumped down and overpowered the guard. As the second larger craft landed a mere hundred yards from where he was crouched in the bushes, a rush of adrenaline powered him into action. In spite of the pain in his chest, he ran back to the hospital and joined the surge into the front of the building. Some of the UNCLE men recognized him and stopped only momentarily to give a brief rundown of their plan. Napoleon was on the roof, going in from that direction. They would secure the hospital staff and then proceed to what they believed was an underground command center. Their target was the head man, Duvall, whom they hoped was still on site. Illya had an idea that the doctor he had incapacitated earlier would be able to tell him exactly where, and took two men with him to the room he had only recently vacated. The older man was still there, not completely awake yet and wrapped up comfortably in the hospital blanket just as Illya had left him.

"Herr Doctor, tell me where Deacon Duvall is. There is not point in refusing to cooperate with me". Illya's tone of voice was enough to persuade the man that his course of action was already decided. He gave him the information, not sorry to be done with these Thrush maniacs. He was a physician, after all. He had no desire to see people hurt without the ability to make them well.

"He is downstairs, in their lair. You must go to the elevator marked HOUSEKEEPING; press the button that says 2B, and you will be taken to the man's office and apartment. He stays there when he visits the hospital. He has not left, so you will find him there".

"Thank you Herr Doctor. You will be safe now, I promise". Illya left the room and the old man with an UNCLE agent and instructions to guard him carefully. He had felt the man was kindly disposed towards doing the right thing.

From there Illya headed back into the main corridor and to the elevator the doctor had described. Once inside he did as he had been instructed, an UNCLE special in one hand, courtesy of the agent he had left with the doctor. His breathing was hindered only slightly now, the pain seeming to subside in concert with the amount of adrenaline his body could produce. For now it would be sufficient to carry out his task.

Napoleon had managed to subdue the guard, felling him with a sleep dart before the man could fire his gun. The helicopter rose again and headed for a landing in the parking lot that was now streaming with UNCLE agents as they headed for the hospital entrance. He slid through the door and headed downward, into the building, bypassing the hospital floor and deeper into the basement substructure of the building. This is where he would find the Thrush command center, he had no doubt. Hopefully he would also find Duvall and Lucas, the two main characters in this strange affair. As much as he needed to know his partner was safe, his first order of business was to subdue the Thrush chief. He had that in mind when he heard a noise coming from the corridor to his left; he turned with gun in hand ready to fire, only to see a blond in a white lab coat that hung loosely around the slim body.

"Illya, don't shoot! Are you alright? I was afraid…" The blue eyes were bright in the fluorescent lighting, affecting the same glad reaction to seeing his own partner.

"Yes, I am alive, although in considerable pain. I would like to get this over with as quickly as possible, if you don't mind". The quirky half smile reassured Napoleon that they were indeed back in action, the two of them better for being a team once again.

"Let's get on with it then. Do you know where you're going?" The dark haired agent assumed that his partner must have some idea where to look, so motioned for him to lead the way. Duvall's door was just opening into the dimly lit corridor as the two agents approached, causing him to reach for a gun. Solo was quicker, and shot him with a dart even as the man was firing an errant bullet into the wall. The CEA was on his communicator immediately, asking for someone to transport the downed Thrush back to the helicopter, a request that was met with quick compliance. Transporting his partner was left to him, for as soon as Duvall was downed Illya sank to the floor, the adrenalin no longer sufficient to ward of the pain and approaching darkness. He passed out just as Napoleon reached across to catch him.

"Once more into the breach, eh tovarisch". Habit and friendship accompanied the two as the senior agent lifted his partner and carried him upstairs.

The entire operation took less than forty minutes to complete, such was the effectiveness of their surprise on the unsuspecting Thrush personnel. With Duvall in hand and the satrap secured, the UNCLE helicopters headed back for headquarters under a full moon; soon Illya would be back in medical in a bed already reserved for the unconscious agent.

There had been no sign of the mysterious female Thrush. She wasn't in this location, which would necessitate an urgent interrogation of the sleeping Duvall. Once back at headquarters they would get the information. Little did Napoleon know what the actual impetus for his disclosures would be; nor did he have a clue that all of their lives were in danger as the clock ticked off the minutes until disaster struck.


	12. Chapter 12

There were two priority items on Napoleon Solo's list when he touched down at UNCLE headquarters: get Illya into medical, get Duvall into the building for an intensive interrogation.

On the flight back the Thrush chief had awakened, slowly at first and then in a panic when he realized his predicament.

"Where are we going?" His eyes were wild as he shouted above the noise in the chopper.

"We are taking you to UNCLE headquarters, Mr. Duvall. That's where you're going to tell us all about Miss Lucas…and whatever else you can offer". Napoleon's eyes were cold, his intentions obvious.

"I can't go there…we shouldn't…" Duvall had a vision of the devastation to come and shuddered to think of being caught in it. He had to escape, get out of the helicopter…and then he realized he hadn't a chance of doing so. His desire to live made decision making easy as he rolled over his options. At this point, with this man he knew there was only one.

"Mr. Solo, there's going to be a disaster of far reaching proportions, and it's going to happen in…' He looked at his watch, counting the hours…"in five hours. And it will happen at UNCLE headquarters". Napoleon blanched at the thought of what Thrush may have planted, and of the lives that could be lost. His mind was racing through the possible scenarios as he grabbed Duvall by his suit lapel and shouted back at him.

"What kind of disaster, Duvall? What have you done?" The Thrush just glared at his captor, the ingenuity of his plan now the conduit for his own destruction.

"It was planted by Marianne Lucas. She is the only one who knows where it's hidden. And she will be boarding a flight for London in four hours".

The UNCLE helicopter was landing as the conversation came to this disturbing juncture. Napoleon leapt onto the helipad as medics appeared to take away the wounded, Illya among them. As much as the CEA wanted to escort his partner and be certain of his condition, he knew that the only acceptable action at this point was to take Duvall downstairs and get all of the information he could in order to apprehend Marianne. She had become the most important person for everyone in the building.

"Mr. Solo'…Alexander Waverly appeared only slightly more worn than usual, his bushy eyebrows actively punctuating his speech… "We must evacuate the building of all non-essential personnel. That is the first order of business. Please see to that as soon as we are concluded here with…Mr. Duvall". He cast his eyes upon the man from Thrush, his expression only mildly devoid of his utter contempt.

"Where is Miss Lucas? Unless you yourself are willing to die for this scheme of yours, you will tell us where we shall find her. I assure you it will be easy enough to evacuate this building and let it fall before us. You, however, will not be so fortunate as to be among us. Do I make myself clear?" It seemed he did, for Duvall began to talk a steady stream of information concerning the woman's location and schedule. Within a few minutes Napoleon had the address of the Thrush safe house where she was waiting, and the number of her flight and time of departure. It appeared that Deacon Duvall would rather live at any cost when confronted with his own mortality. Life meant having another chance, and it was an easy choice to count on his ability to reinvent himself another day.

In another part of the building, Larry Neville sat in a holding cell he had been calling home for the past nineteen hours; ever since the end of his interrogation. The longer he sat there, the more he hoped he had killed the Soviet s.o.b., because if he was going to jail for the rest of his life it oughta be because he'd done something right. So it was with great animosity that he received the news of Kuryakin's return to headquarters down in medical.

"He's alive, that little bastard". He said it aloud, not caring who heard him. Here he sat, a trained UNCLE agent, albeit still section three, all because of that commie friend of Solo's. At that very moment, he began to plan an escape.

From Waverly's office Napoleon had begun to make the plans for retrieving Marianne Lucas from the Long Island safe house. He would lead the mission, not trusting it to anyone else because of the dire consequences of failure. He would assume that responsibility as Chief Enforcement Agent. He assembled a team and led them to the helicopter after Duvall had been securely retained in Interrogation Room 1. For this one time, he trusted a Thrush to tell him the truth. Facing death did have an effect on even the most hardcore criminals.

The flight was quick, the assault a complete surprise to the unaware Thrush. Marianne Lucas had her bags packed and a limo waiting for the ride to Kennedy International. It was still three hours until her flight, but they had only managed to arrive with minutes to spare before her planned departure from the Long Island house. She knew immediately upon hearing the gunfire that they had come for her. Why else attack a safe house at six in the morning? She wouldn't take that suicide pill; better to be a prisoner than a memory.

Napoleon found her waiting, seated on her stack of suitcases as though she expected the chauffeur instead of an angry UNCLE agent.

"Mr. Solo, I see you've found me. Is there something I can do for you?" It wasn't a smirk, but the smile did elicit a less than polite response from the handsome intruder. He wasted no time gathering her up in a rough handed manner and escorting her at a quick pace back to the helicopter. There was no time for charm or wit this time. He had a deadline to meet, and this woman held the key to saving headquarters and lives.

"You're coming back to UNCLE, and you're going to show us where you've planted your bomb. I suspect that being there will help you to cooperate". He returned the smirk now; advantage Solo.

The medical unit had given Illya a going over and rewrapped his chest, administering pain killers and an oral sedative. Tricky Russian that he was, he didn't swallow the sleeping pill, but held it in his cheek until the nurse had turned her back. He spit it out and slipped it beneath his pillow, waiting for an opportunity to ease out of the bed and get dressed. All he had was the trousers he'd confiscated from the Thrush doctor, so he pulled them on, as well as the shoes, and retrieved the lab coat once again. He hated hospital gowns, perhaps more than intrusive doctors. He would simply go upstairs to Mr. Waverly's office and wait there. He couldn't remain in medical while all of this action was taking place. He'd overheard part of the conversation between Duvall and Napoleon, so he was aware of some danger that still remained. He needed to know what it was and, if possible, help contain it.

Marianne was easily persuaded to give up the location and nature of the "bomb". She had no desire to perish along with the UNCLE staff, and realized that there was no alternative to it if she didn't cooperate. The bomb she had planted was more than just immediate destruction. Within the explosive had been planted radioactive waste elements that, when ignited would produce a long lasting contamination and imminent death to anyone who survived the actual demolition of the building. UNCLE New York would cease to exist, and the long aftermath of regaining personnel and records would set the organization back years, if not decades.

This would have been a magnificent accomplishment. Now, with the threat of her own demise, she willingly gave them the location; it was in the lab inside of Kuryakin's desk drawer. How delicious would that have been when they revealed to him the means of destruction to his beloved organization and UNCLE comrades. The entire plan had revolved around getting Kuryakin alive, and convincing him that he was wanted as a convert to the dogma of Thrush. Of course, they hadn't counted on Neville using real bullets on the Russian. He was supposed to have loaded sleep darts, but his own mean ambitions and prejudices had nearly spoiled their plan before it got off the ground. _Stupid man._

The man in question was, at that moment, complaining loudly of a physical ailment for which he said medical treatment was required. Rather than call in a physician, the man on duty yielded to a blinding sympathy with his imprisoned co-worker and unlocked the door in order to take him up to the medical unit. Unwittingly, he also let the other agent overpower him, take his gun and leave him locked in the cell. Neville congratulated himself that he was, indeed, section II material. _'Now we'll see about Kuryakin'_, and with that thought he made his way to confront his imagined nemesis.

Illya had made it all the way upstairs to Waverly's office, only to be restrained by a section III agent who immediately took it upon himself to escort the injured man back to medical. Without checking with his superior, the man assumed that Kuryakin was still a suspect and not to be admitted to whatever high level meeting was in progress. He had neglected to ascertain the latest information regarding the Russian, and like a few others, had suspicions about the man that dated back to when he had first been made aware of him. UNCLE didn't need his kind, and he was only too willing to return him to a restricted area. Illya was trying to talk to the man, pulling away in an effort that challenged the broken sternum. Lisa Rogers was just coming from her boss' office when she saw the back of the section III agent with the smaller blond in tow.

"Hey, Baker, who do you have there?" She didn't waste any time approaching the two men, and was shocked that Mr. Kuryakin was being treated in such an offhand manner.

"Take your hands off of him. Illya, are you alright?" She observed his less than fit appearance, and felt silly for asking the question. She reached for her intercom and alerted Mr. Waverly that his recently returned agent was outside and appeared to want to see him.

"Yes, Miss Rogers, show him in please…gently".

"Ah, Mr. Kuryakin, you are just in time to witness the removal of the bomb that was planted in your lab desk for the purpose of destroying our headquarters. Mr. Solo is currently in charge of disposing of this most heinous device'…he observed his agent, noting the dark circles that punctuated his features like a mask. His posture further indicated the obvious discomfort from what he had learned was a cracked breastbone. The ability to survive the most outlandish circumstances was a continual source of amazement to the old man. He did not yearn for his own youthful adventures just now…

"It appears that there was never an actual mole, per se. You were the object of their ambitions; to strip you of all information regarding UNCLE and of the Soviets. Why they thought you would have current intelligence from that quarter is still a mystery. They are, at times, most deficient in common sense". Illya could only imagine how it might have turned out had they not been able to capture Duvall and Marianne. As he watched his partner on the closed screen image, he momentarily wished he was carrying out the task; his expertise with explosives did exceed Napoleon's, making him a better choice for the dangerous assignment. It was an unnecessary concern, however, as he knew the man to be exceptionally capable and that his success was not in doubt.

The bomb was transported to their containment center in the basement of the building. Because of the radioactive elements, there would be special precautions taken to safely handle the completely disarmed device. Napoleon left it with their explosives team and some section VIII personnel. This would be gone over with a fine tooth comb, and he would himself want to take a look at it eventually.

"So, Mr. Kuryakin, it appears that the worst of it is over. Perhaps now you can be persuaded to return to medical. You don't look particularly well, I have to say". Illya didn't feel particularly well, and he was willing to go and lie down; he planned on going home though…soon.

"Yes sir, I will go back and check in. I would like, however, to wait here for Napoleon, if you don't mind". He wanted to see his partner and get the details first hand, but not in medical. He needed to be alert, and lying down in a bed would ruin him for that.

"Certainly, that will do. He should be returning soon…" And just then UNCLE's top agent walked through the swishing doors and settled into his chair, relief plastered on his face.

"Illya, what are you doing up here? You're supposed to be…"

"Yes, I know where I'm supposed to be; right here, waiting to hear your report on the night's activities. I seem to have missed some of the details". It was almost too good to believe; they had all survived and were here to talk about it. Another dastardly deed was filed away, another win for the good guys.

"Okay, I understand that. But, you look like…' He remembered where he was and toned down his observation…

"You look like you could use some sleep, my friend. How about I walk you back downstairs and we go over this tomorrow, after you've gotten some rest". Illya was fading, and he recognized it. To remain here and harass his partner would be pointless. He might as well submit.

"Perhaps you're right, Napoleon. Mr. Waverly, can you persuade the doctors to release me to my own home?" His face took on the look of that wide eyed boy who had fought his way through Germans and Soviets, waiting for a reprieve from another man in authority. Waverly relented, wishing for all the world that the battles they fought were no longer necessary.

"Yes, Mr. Kuryakin, I will take care of that. Now go and get yourself some rest. Oh, and...well done, both of you.". With that pronouncement the tweedy old gentleman turned his back and prepared to light his pipe.

Napoleon and Illya headed for the elevator, both of them weary from the past 40 hours of violence and intrigue; ready for some well deserved rest from the chaos and mayhem that Duvall's scheme had produced. Some answers would have to wait until both agents were refreshed and alert, and they were promising each other full disclosure of all the pertinent facts.

The doors opened on the floor to medical, and as they prepared to exit the elevator, oblivious to any hint of danger, an enraged Larry Neville was waiting for them. He had locked the doctors and nurses in an exam room, and he alone was in the lobby to greet the unsuspecting partners as they emerged from the elevator.

"Stop right there! This time I won't miss, Kuryakin. Solo, get out of the way, I don't have any grudge with you". His eyes were wild with hate as he leveled the Special at Illya's midsection. The blond agent was pushing his friend away from him, trying to shield him from the unsteady man who faced them. With as much intent as his partner, Napoleon tried to reach towards Neville and dissuade him from what he was attempting.

"Larry, you don't want to do this. We can write off the other night to Thrush, you can get counseling. You didn't kill anyone, and I'm certain we can work something out…"

"I don't want to work anything out Solo. I want the commie bastard dead. He's ruining everything. He's a traitor, he's dirty…" His emotional outburst created a surge of adrenaline and he pulled the trigger, hitting his target dead on. Napoleon leapt towards him, tackling him and gaining possession of the gun, but Illya was down. Blood was seeping across the fabric of the white coat he wore, his eyes rolled back in his head as he lost vision and then consciousness.

"You bastard, you damned stupid bastard!" Napoleon rushed over to his friend, picking him up and carrying him down the hall to a room with a vacant bed. He released the medical personnel from their temporary prison, watched as they went into overdrive to tend to his dying partner. With an unbridled fury, he ran back to reception and tore into the stunned Neville, battering him nearly to a pulp before the arrival of more agents spared him the additional torment of actually killing the man.

Unbearable minutes dragged on as both Napoleon and Mr. Waverly waited for some word on the stricken Russian. Why, at the very end of this nightmare, did this happen? The shock to both men was palpable; their anger at what had motivated the crazed agent into attempting once again to assassinate Illya more overwhelming than they cared to admit. Napoleon would have gladly murdered the man, and if Illya didn't survive, he might still do it. He felt physically sick at the memory of watching Neville, of Illya falling once again into a heap because of him.

There was an investigation pending concerning his escape from that cell. Were it up to the CEA, he would require a psych test for every employee. _How ironic was that, to wish a visit to the shrink on everyone at UNCLE?_

There had to be more like Neville among them; blind with prejudice and hate. Enough hate to try and murder his friend, his tovarisch.

_God, Illya couldn't die._

It was over an hour later that Dr. Morton came out and gave them the good, if not guarded news that Mr. Kuryakin would live. The bullet had done some internal damage, but the bleeding had been stopped and he was, at present, stable.

"Can I see him?" Napoleon knew he would stay here, by his partner's side. They all knew it, the standard practice for these two; for all partners who really had a connection.

"Yes, you can go in. He's better than he looks, actually. Just so you know. And, why don't you get some sleep in there as well, Napoleon. You look like you could use it". Wise doctor.

Sometime around midnight, forty eight hours from the time this nightmare had started, Illya woke up in the dim lights of a hospital room…again. He could see the figure in the next bed and knew it was his partner. He didn't call out to him, decided to let the man sleep as he knew they both should.

'_We survived it, my friend. My reputation is still intact and we have lived to fight another day'. _

The thought was some comfort. Of more value was the knowledge that his friend had trusted him, and their bond would remain unbroken.

_With that firmly rooted conviction, Illya Kuryakin drifted back to sleep._


End file.
